Eagle Eyes
by Goldleaf83
Summary: The joys of being the oldest member of the unit. Written for the 2019 Short Story Speedwriting Competition.


Hogan shut the door to his office, which was lit only by the small lamp on his desk. It was nearly time for lights out: he had just left the main room of the barracks. Kinch was supposed to be up in a minute after the nightly check-in with London. He was hoping that they wouldn't have a new mission assigned: they had just finished a complicated mission getting the location of a new airfield the Germans were building and could use a little down time.

A soft knock on his door proclaimed that Kinch had finished with the check-in from downstairs. That was good—maybe they could all get to bed at a normal hour and make up some sleep.

"Come in," he called.

"Hey, Colonel," Kinch said as he entered. Once inside the office, with the door closed, he pulled a small slip of folded paper out. "Just in from London."

"Another mission?" Hogan asked, an edge of irritation in his voice.

"No, sir. Just some thanks, for once." Kinch let the smile he had been hiding show as he handed the message to his commanding officer.

Hogan unfolded the message, squinted at it, then raised his hand and rubbed his eyes. They felt gritty and dry—too much dust in the dry compound of late summer, too much smoke from cigarettes and the stove in the barracks, not enough sleep for the last two nights while they had worked on the mission. Kinch's handwriting was neat, as always, but the printing was also small, and Hogan was having trouble focusing. He brought the paper close up, but that seemed to make it worse, so he put the paper on his desk under the light. The writing came into focus: a short message, as Kinch had said, composed of thanks and congratulations.

Hogan looked up and met Kinch's smile with one of his own. "Guess we can all get a good night's sleep tonight."

"Yes, sir." Kinch looked at his CO with some concern. "You feeling okay, Colonel?"

"Yeah, just an end-of-day headache. Some actual sleep should chase it away." Hogan rubbed his temples.

"Then I'll let you hit the sack, sir. Sleep well."

"You too, Kinch," Hogan yawned.

ooOoo

"This calls for a little celebration. Would you like some schnapps, Colonel Hogan?" Klink made his way over to the sideboard where he kept the decanter.

"You want me to toast Berlin's recognition of your record?" Hogan asked, taking advantage of Klink's movement across the room to scan the documents on Klink's desk. They were upside down, but he had long ago perfected the ability to read them that way. He really just needed the number of new guards arriving, not the whole document, and numbers were always easy.

But he had trouble focusing on the sheet of paper. Too much glare from the window, probably: the sun was low and hitting the frosted glass. He closed his left eye, squinted, and saw the number he needed. He turned as Klink approached, schnapps glass in hand, and took the drink from him.

"To my perfect record!" Klink gushed.

"And the next successful escape," Hogan added, touching his glass to Klink's and downing it swiftly as Klink glared at him.

ooOoo

They were all five ready for the new mission: dressed in camouflage blacks, armed, carefully loaded with the explosives and gear they would need to take out the new fuel station that the Germans had so thoughtfully placed just outside Hammelburg.

"This is gonna be great!" Carter was practically vibrating from excitement. "By putting the bombs on each side, the two detonations will take out the underground tank in a third massive explosion. I can't wait to see it go up! We just gotta be sure that they go off at the same time."

"We'll synch our watches now," Hogan said. Everyone lifted their watches up, waiting for the colonel to call the count.

Hogan squinted at his watch. The numbers were blurry in the flickering light of the oil lamps, and he couldn't see the second hand. He pulled his wrist toward his face, but that seemed to make it worse. Must be the shadow from his head. He lowered his wrist closer to his waist, turning to be sure he was getting the full light the oil lamp could give him. Yes, there it was.

"2312 on my mark," he said, then added after a short pause, "Five, four, three, two, one, _mark_." All five watches clicked.

Carter asked, "Are you sure we can't stay around to watch the bombs go off, Colonel? I did some of my best work with these."

"We synched our watches so they would go off simultaneously," Kinch reminded him. "That was so we could be back here when they blew. It'll be a lot safer for us."

"Right, in more than one way," Newkirk agreed.

"_Oui_, if what you say about the amount of fuel that will explode from that tank is correct, we do not want to be anywhere near it," LeBeau added.

"I didn't mean standing right next to it. I meant like on one of the ridges nearby." Carter's tone suggested he was miffed.

"That explosion is going to bring out a lot of people from Hammelburg. We don't want to be where anyone might see us. That's why we had you design the timers. Now let's get moving," Hogan ordered, ending the debate.

As they moved down the tunnel toward its exit in the woods, with Hogan in the lead, he didn't notice the look that Kinch and Newkirk exchanged as Newkirk tapped his watch and Kinch nodded.

ooOoo

"So here's the list of supplies I need, if you can charm them out of Klink, sir," Sergeant Wilson said, holding out a piece of paper.

"Sure, Wilson," Hogan nodded, taking it. It was late in the day: he was tired and had a major headache.

He started to put it in his jacket pocket, but Wilson quickly added, "There's a couple of items I'd like to go over with you. Colonel, if you don't mind."

Stifling a sigh, Hogan nodded. "Of course, Sergeant. Which ones?"

"The third and fifth," Wilson said, watching Hogan intently.

Hogan blinked down at the list. The letters were blurred and he couldn't make out the words exactly. He moved the list further out, to arm's length. "Ah, hydrogen . . . chloride?" he guessed.

"Hydrogen _peroxide_, Colonel. It's a common disinfectant. Hydrogen chloride, on the other hand, will kill you. It's not something I want in my infirmary."

"Right," Hogan said. Then, in an attempt to lighten the conversation—and move it away from where he was afraid it was going, he added, "Well, chemistry was never my strongest subject."

"How long have you been having trouble reading, Colonel?" Wilson asked, refusing to be misdirected.

Hogan slumped slightly. "I don't know. A few weeks maybe?"

"Or maybe a few months?" Wilson asked.

Hogan sighed, irritated. "Maybe a couple."

"You'll be turning 40 on your next birthday, right, sir?"

Hogan looked at him. The idea of turning 40 wasn't one that appealed to him—although not having the chance to do so was still more worrisome, given the dangers of his current occupation. "So?"

Wilson shrugged. "A lot of people find around that age that they start needing reading glasses. I'd like to test your vision."

"Now? I have a blinding headache, Wilson. I can't even see the floor." When Wilson looked alarmed, Hogan added, "Relax, Sergeant, I'm exaggerating. I do have a headache, but it's not that bad. But couldn't the vision test wait till it's gone?"

"Headaches are one of the major symptoms of eyestrain, Colonel. We can do the test tomorrow, though, if you prefer. But I don't want to wait longer than that." He added with a grin, "I'll tell Kinch to be sure you come in to see me."

Hogan's eyebrow went up. "Kinch, huh? He the reason for that little test with the list that you had me do?"

"Let's just say that I had a few reports from varying quarters expressing concern, sir."

"Mm-hmm. Okay, Wilson, I'll come in tomorrow. You have one of those eye charts, I take it?"

"Yes, sir. It will only take a few minutes, and then we'll be able to gauge your eyesight better."

Hogan was silent a moment. He asked hesitantly, "Would this keep me from flying? I mean, after the war, of course."

"It should be correctable. You may not need more than reading glasses," Wilson said reassuringly.

"Okay," Hogan said, drawing a breath for courage. "I'll see you tomorrow and read your blasted chart, to see what it tells us."

"I'll look forward to it, Colonel."

ooOoo

Kinch opened the door to the hut that served as the infirmary, checking to see if the coast was clear. Seeing Wilson seated alone at his desk, he entered carefully, followed by Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau. They scanned the room, but there was no sign of Colonel Hogan.

Wilson looked up. "You can come in—he's not here."

"But the Colonel did come to see you?" Newkirk asked.

"Oh yes."

"And you gave him the vision test?" LeBeau inquired.

"Yep."

"Well?" Kinch asked impatiently.

Wilson sighed. "You guys were right: he's got some vision problems." Carter gasped out loud and Wilson scowled at him. "Not very severe, and perfectly ordinary in someone about his age."

"Define 'some vision problems,'" Newkirk asked edgily.

"He's developed presbyopia in his left eye. His right eye is fine."

"Prez-myopia?" Carter tried.

"No, pres-by-opia. It means he has trouble reading small print up close."

"What do we do about it?" Kinch asked.

"Not much to do beyond reading glasses—and those are pretty much impossible to come by around here. It'll wait until liberation. He's fine for distance work, and you guys can help him by reading stuff to him when you can. He can also close his left eye and use his right only when he needs to."

"Did he take the news okay?" LeBeau asked.

Wilson ran his right hand over his mouth and chin. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. "He wasn't really pleased to hear the diagnosis, and me telling him that the problem was only in one eye didn't really help."

"Why not?" Kinch and Newkirk managed to ask in unison.

"He told me that no matter what he was _not_ going to wear a monocle!"

ooOoo

_I have loved Hogan's Heroes since the 1970s, but none of its characters are mine; they were created by Bernard Fein and Albert S. Ruddy. I acknowledge their ownership and that of Bing Crosby Productions and intend no copyright infringement. _


End file.
